Reflections
by Silver Blazen
Summary: He never looked into the mirror, he was always afraid of what might stare back at him. When hope finally meets him again with the eyes of his best friend, Bucky realizes that he's not nameless ghost.


**Reflections**

**All characters belong to Marvel Comics**

**I own nothing**

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Bucky asked with a dark, grunting despondent tone. He stood in front of the oval-shaped mirror; his hands gripped the sides of the white porcelain of the sink. He couldn't bring his gaze up to look at himself; it has been too long since he dared to stare at his reflection.

Dread seized like knots in his heart, and muscles tightened into weaving threads underneath his dark bronze uniform.

The smell of gun powder still lingered on the material, and the golden buttons on his collar shone with the symbols of his battalion the 107th infantry. He wore his uniform like any proud soldier would to celebrate his libation of surviving the front lines with only his rifle strapped over his broad shoulder.

Everything felt distant-almost like another lifetime. Memories of young men he served with across Europe were now ghosts to his fracture mind-fragments of names, laughter and screams of fallen men still gather in the weaving spindles of his soul. It's a pain that has never ceased to vanish.

A memory that reshaped itself in the darkening void. It's a mortal curse that every soldier carries when he returns home.

"Buck, we've been through the details. You're not backing out of this..." Steve replied with a deep, passive tone. He leaned his tall, muscular form against the door frame. His rippling muscles covered in the same brown uniform with metals pinned to his broad chest. Sometimes he didn't hide the bruises from withstanding the unexpected attacks of Bucky's mindless nightmares. He healed quickly to even notice the damage.

His spiked golden locks of hair slicked off his forehead, each strand shines like a halo. His youthful face with honesty; resilience was carved into the chiseled lines of his strong jaw and knife-edged cheekbones. His calm, cerulean blue eyes gleam with tenderness, determination and acceptance.

Beyond the depth of crystal blue, pain, guilt and unsettled remorse circulate. He refused to allow Bucky to see his torment raving through his indestructible body. He wants to be strong, and carry out his mission by giving his lifelong friend a chance to live with the shadows of HYDRA dragging him back into the red abyss of the programmed and lethal assassin and the KGB asset-the Winter Soldier. The hard lines of his perfected shoulders slump into a despairing posture. "You're a war hero, Buck. You deserve this. Don't let everyone tell you different."

"I'm not a good man, Steve." Bucky echoed back, his voice was thick with bitterness. He dropped his head low, making his long strands of chestnut almost touch the soapy water. His emotions are becoming too overwhelmed with everything thrown against him. He was never meant to feel again, to have mercy for the lives he took order the strict orders of his handlers. His reward was to become imprisoned into a coffin of ice and be awakened when his services were needed again. He doesn't want to become a symbol of hope for young boys to look up to, he wants to hide from the world, and stay where it's safe. "I don't deserve this, punk." he dismisses out a condemning tone. Each breath was lace with venom. His azure colored eyes are filled with ice and ire."I don't deserve anything." He rebuked with a condemning ting in his voice. He barely shifted his glaring blue eyes to Steve. They felt the rift slowly separating them with each tense word that escaped from their mouths. It twists at Steve's heart.

"Buck, stop beating' yourself up." Steve groused, settling his stern blue eyes on his friend. "You deserve more than recognition—you're good soldier and a great man." He commended, with a warm smile shadowing over his lips. "You've always been, pal."

Bucky frowned unsure what to stay to that. After fighting against the demons in his head, the mindless torment that rattled through his bones, and the endless fog of red that spread across his mind like an incurable sickness. He always was teetering closer the edge, feeling the urges to kill, and fighting against his own mortality. Now, after seeing the damage he did under the seize of HYDRA, the video footage SHIED kept in ghost files, he was unsure if he was worth saving. He knew it in the doubt of his mind that he needed more time. He needed to stay in the shadows, and away from the world around him. He was unprepared to retrace the steps of his stolen life to reconnect the pieces of his existence that his tortures swept away like dusted snow over a vacant street.

Steve stared. He stared back. He was utterly unsettled. But he chose not to freak out—he fought against his compulsions of attack, and restrained his cold anger by releasing an uneven breath, and clenched his jaw. He inhaled once, twice, three times in a series of silent, compressed breaths. "Steve." He began, swallowing down a lump, and gave a forward look to his best friend, who didn't relent back under his taciturn expression. "Look I know you think that I can change," he sucked in a deep breath. "I can't change. Not after I finally know the truth of what they've done to me, pal." He dropped his gaze to the floor, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Things will never be the same as they were Steve." He took a step back and leveled his gaze with his friend, making his blue eyes penetrate through Steve's chest. "You do know that?"

Steve felt a tug on his heart-strings. 'I know, Buck." He replied in a distant voice, his soul drifting further into a darkening void. He stepped closer, not giving into the defeat, refusing to allow himself to become lost within himself. He made a promise with a clank of a whiskey glass to a good man years before his life froze and time changed around him. He was a soldier, leader and a fighter for true justice. He wasn't just a symbol printed on war bonds, comic books and reel footage preserved at the Smithsonian –he was an emblem for hope, liberty, peace and truth.

"Look," Bucky interrupted Steve from his thoughts. He glutted on the pain of his tortures and felt his bones being pulled underneath his muscles. It had been a long time. A long time since he finally could give his confessions to Steve. He had always kept himself heavily guarded and his emotions aloof from others. Now, he was ready to release every word that HYDRA had tucked away under the layers of the Soviet operative. "I think it's best that I stay away..." He spoke with utter disdain in his voice.

He shifted his body, feeling uncomfortable as weariness had its claws sunk deep into his heart; he languished in the shafts of light for a long moment. "When I said we were going to future back in Brooklyn..." A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I never thought it would actually happen to us..." He whispered harshly and glanced at the rounded indestructible Vibranium shield leaned up against the hallway wall behind Steve. It always appeared to look heavy to hold, but it was only 12 pounds. Most of the red and blue paint was scraped away from age and battles. The five pointed star never had marks. It was the center of the weapon, and the symbol of hope. It was something Bucky has lost that moment when his hands slipped off the metal rails of the train car, and he fall into the endless void of winter. "You've always carried our hopes and dreams on your shoulders." He stole a glance at his metal plated left arm, and sighed. "I just carried the nightmares on mine."

"Don't think of that, Bucky." Steve replied, stepping a fraction of an inch closer to his friend. "You're a good soldier. You gave everything for our country. I believed in your choice that you made when you decided not to take my hand." There was an unbreakable and fiery determination burning in Steve's blue eyes, and a stubbornness igniting in his veins that kept him grounded even through the world was sinking around him. "I have never stopped believing in you, Buck. It's your choice if you want to come with me..."

"Well," Bucky said, chewing on his bottom lip, digging his upper row of teeth into the soft flesh. He stared at the struggle of grief shrouding over Steve's angular face. He saw the lifetime of agony built up inside his best friend. He saw the anger, remorse and the guilt beyond the hues of blue. There were so many memories rushing up to meet him, he had always followed his gut, and had faith through the tempest of struggles. He never gave up the fight, even when he lost his parents at a young age. He was now given the chance to seize his life again, to finally taste the freedom and climb out of dark pit HYDRA threw him into. Bucky watched Steve's expression crumble as tears threaten to leak out of his eyes, and he felt his rebellious spirit fighting against the programming. He _knew _that this was a way to escape the madness, imprisonment and tortures. He can't lose the fight. Not this time. "I guess if you dare me to go than I will have to no choice." he said after a long pause. "I can't refuse a dare. That's the rules of Brooklyn." He glowered at Steve with a mischievous look in his light azure eyes.

Steve gave him a faint smile; he felt the rigid lock of tension of slowly being open. "You asked for it, Bucky Barnes." he spoke with a bright voice. "I dare you to come to the Smithsonian with me. Not as a Howling Commando, but as my best friend, because without Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes at his side there would be no Captain America." His voice began to swell when he confessed those honest words.

Bucky nodded silently, and smiled widely at Steve. "Alright, I'll go, but on condition. After we get this thing over with...You're buying me a drink. When I mean a drink, I'm not talkin' about a shot glass. I want the whole bottle."

"I think you like vodka?'" Steve surmised.

"Ice Vodka." Bucky riposted, with a dark smirk across his lips. "Do you get drunk?"

Steve raised both eyebrows. "No. I have a high metabolism."

"Good." Bucky said, and splashed the water over his face. "I want you to have a bottle with me, Captain America."

"I would be honored, Sergeant Barnes." Steve smiled lightly, feeling warmth revert back into his chest. He stepped out of the bathroom. "You have two minutes to finish up." He listened to Bucky snort out a response. "That's an order, soldier."

"Stop ordering me around, Rogers. I'm the reason you're still alive in the first place." He suddenly became tight-lipped, and watched Steve slowly turn on the soles of his shoes. "If it wasn't for me savin' your skinny, little ass all the time from those alleyway jerks...You wouldn't have been enlisted. I'm just saying...Remember who's watching you back, Captain."

"I know, Bucky." Steve said, his voice low and growling, and barely sounded like his own. "It's good to have you back."

"Hey, we're Brooklyn boys, it takes a hell of a lot to separate us." Bucky countered, smirking as the truth beamed over his ashen face. "You've got me until the end of the line, pal."

Steve stepped closer, mirroring back a smile. "Do you know how stupid that sounds, Buck?"

"I guess I'm turning into you, Stevie." He retorted, and it that instant he felt Steve's broad arms wrap over his slender frame as he became embraced into a colossal, brotherly hug. He patted his metal hand over Steve's back, and whispered with a gentle breath. "Thanks for not giving up on me, punk."

"There were sometimes I wish I didn't, jerk," Steve replied with a blissful voice, holding Bucky close, and not letting him go. "We're soldiers, Buck. We never give up on each other."

Bucky closed his eyes, and allowed the heat of Steve's massive body to warm his frozen heart. "Never."

* * *

Shortly after doing press shots for the Washington Post in front of the new exhibit of the Howling Commands, Bucky stood in the shadows watching his best friend sign posters, war bond cards and shirts of Captain America. He smiled himself, and remained aloof in the darkness. He hung his head low, and methodically advanced to the glass case that held the Nomex and Kevlar spangled uniform Steve had worn during the invasion in New York. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his uniform, and finally allowed his blue eyes to catch a glimpse of the reflection of his face. His true face.

He had matured in his features. His baby fat had dissolved into smooth chiseled lines of hardened skin. His shiny, messy chestnut strands of hair almost shoulder length.

His jaw was thick, and his chin had the same distinctive cleft at the curve. His piercing azure colored eyes filled with pain, brokenness and malice. His gorgeous arched lips alerted into a permanent frown, almost frozen into his face. He was a statue in the middle of the crowds, focusing and fighting to regain his existence. It was like looking into a dream concealed by the veils of nightmares.

A short time ago, he was a nameless ghost, but now he had a name to match the haunting face of the soldier staring back at him. "My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes." He muttered out a breath, feeling it vibrate through his ribs. He was clenched his meta hand into a fist, and was just about to ram it into the glass when he suddenly became jostled by a light tug of his uniform. Alarmed, Bucky narrowed his feral stare at a small blonde haired boy, except this child was different. He was frail, sickly looking and had a prosthetic left arm. His big dark blue eyes shone with hope as he stared up at the soldier. "What?' he grumbled under his breath.

The boy swallowed, and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a metal frame attached to his shoulder. "Sir, I was wondering if you could sign your name?" he asked with a gentle voice, but his small lips alerted into a frown. "My daddy told me stories about you...You're Bucky Barnes. One of the greatest heroes in American history."

"I'm not a hero kid," Bucky spoke with conviction ragging in his voice. He gestured a hand to Steve being mauled by his fans in front of one of the exhibits. "Captain Steve Rogers is a hero. You deserve his autograph. Not mine."

"I don't want his name printed on my arm. I want yours, Sergeant Barnes." the boy replied, giving Bucky a marker. "You're the reason why I'm here in the first place."

Bucky sighed, and lowered his gaze to the marker gripped in his hand. "Where's your father?" he asked.

"He died last year in action. I wear his dog tags and I never take them off."

"I'm sorry to hear that, kid." Bucky replied, crouching on his knees, and wrote his name on the boy's metal arm. "How did you get this?" he referred to the limb.

"I'm sick...I don't have a lot of time to live. But I'm not afraid." he spoke in defiance. "I'm brave like you and Captain Rogers. I'm a Howling Commando."

Bucky smiled his brightest for the boy, and gripped his shoulder. "That you are, kid." He stuffed his hand into the pocket of his uniform. "I've got something for you." He watched as the boy's eyes lit up at his words. "It's very old just like me, but it will make you brave no matter what battle you face." He pinned a tarnished metal with a red ribbon on the child's left side, and wrapped his arm around the boy. "I want you to hold on to it for a while. It kept me brave on the front lines, and I believe it will do the same for you, kid."

The boy was speechless, and wrapped his little arms over Bucky's shoulders, giving the soldier a tight hug. "Thank you, Sergeant Barnes." He pulled away when he heard his mother's voice calling him in the background. Bucky messed up his blonde curls, and smiled. He felt like himself again.

A few seconds passed by when Steve walked over to him and asked. "What was that all about, Buck?"

Bucky grinned softly, knowing that he had given that boy a little boy of surviving another day through his struggles. He kept his blue eyes steady on Steve's face. "I figured out that I'm not such a bad guy after all, Steve. If a little kid who fights with a life threatening disease everyday believes in me...How bad can I be, pal?"

Steve placed his hand firmly on Bucky's shoulder, and smiled. "You were never bad, Buck. Just lost."

"I want you to do know something..." He whispered, swallowing down his words. "I knew that you would find me. I always knew that, Steve."

They stared at each for a long moment, and then walked away to the exit doors of the exhibit room. Neither Bucky nor Steve looked back at the past memories preserved behind glass. They kept on moving forward, and the former assassin coiled his metal arm over Steve's shoulders as both of them walked out of the dim darkness and into the light of the new world around them.

"Where are we going?" Bucky asked, still a little fearful in his steps.

'Home." Steve replied, keeping his friend steady on the ground beneath them.

They bought a couple of bottles of ice vodka from a local store, and talked about the old days when they were just two kids from Brooklyn.

Not soldiers.


End file.
